


stuck in motion

by gurlsrool



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (this was supposed 2 be Just angst but i had 2 ha ve some fluff sue me), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Head Injury, M/M, Panic Attacks, other shit im forgetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurlsrool/pseuds/gurlsrool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty says the next thing he remembers is unfamiliar voices. </p><p>Bitty says the last thing he remembers is Madison, Georgia.</p><p>Bitty, even with a major blow to his head, hasn’t forgotten his southern hospitality. When he introduces himself to Jack Zimmermann, he shakes his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck in motion

**Author's Note:**

> OK! BIGGEST! DISCLAIMER! This is 10000% not medically accurate. The fic involves Bitty losing his memory of Samwell through a sports related injury and he probably definitely wouldn't just conveniently only remember everything leading up to Samwell but it's just for the sake of the fic okay I'm sorry. Jack's anxiety, on the other hand, was based on my Own anxiety so while that should be realistic, keep in mind that it's based on my own experiences and may not manifest itself like it does for everyone. The amnesia is fake but the emotions are real, basically. This one goes out to mom katie (nialls-glasses), this wouldn't exist without her love for amnesia aus. She's also the reason this title is from a 1d song. Oh ALSO I started writing this before graduation so it just takes place during Jack's senior year and doesn't follow canon because ya know Bitty doesn't get amnesia in canon. Ok I'm done. Trigger warning for: loss of memory, anxiety, panic attacks, head injury, physical violence, mentions of sex and alcohol, recreational drug use, and strong language. Let's have a good time y'all!

The kitchen smells like lavender and lemons and Jack knows it’s going to be a good day. He wanders in from his morning run and stands behind Bitty, smiling. Bitty cooks like Jack plays hockey, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Jack likes to watch it unfold.

Bitty’s humming a song Jack only recognizes from Bitty’s mouth when he spins around to grab another ingredient and locks eyes with Jack. “Oh lord!” he yelps, jumping a foot back. Bitty’s back in his world. Jack smirks. As much as he likes watching Bitty locked into his baking, he likes when he’s present more. 

“You almost made me lose my cookies,” Bitty huffs, seemingly annoyed, but his face betrays him and his smile’s more solid than anything has ever been in Jack’s life before. Jack stares at Bitty's lips, turned upwards, and he thinks that he could kiss him, just once, to see what they would taste like.

He takes a shower instead and as the cold water turns hot, he thinks maybe it would taste like the kitchen smelled this morning, like good days.

*

Even though he’s not the one who gets hit, Jack feels like his life is flashing before his eyes and so much of it is ice and even more of it is pie filling.

* 

Shitty’s the only one who notices Jack. It’s always been a pattern between the two of them.

Everyone with a Samwell jersey on mobs to Bitty simultaneously when it’s clear he’s _not getting up_. Shitty’s halfway there when he sees Jack, across the rink, frozen. 

He turns on his skates and glides towards him and before Jack can say a word he says, “It’s not your fault. Don’t start Jack and don’t worry so much okay? Bits faints all the time, he’s strong, he’ll be fine.” 

_He is strong_ , Jack tells himself and he does what his old therapist told him to do, count good things and breathe with each one. One hockey, two Shitty, three Bitty, four the kitchen, five Bitty’s smile, six Bitty’s cheeks, seven the number fifteen, it’s all coming down to this. Jack Zimmermann’s good thing is lying on his back on the ice and fuck Shitty’s so wrong.

Jack watches his teammates get shooed out of the way as Bitty’s physically dragged off the ice. He leaves behind a small pool of blood and Jack thinks of hospital rooms and pills and Bitty never getting to play hockey again, Bitty never being on Jack’s line or on faber at four AM on a Thursday morning or right across the hall.

Jack’s going to be sick. He’s going to be sick and he’s going to pass out and he’s going to lose his breath and shrink, shrink, shrink and he wants to see Bitty but he’s too scared so his skates take him across the rink without him knowing it instead.

He swears he doesn’t remember throwing the punch. He swears he doesn’t remember looking number 13 from the BC team in the eyes, trying to find the right words, using his fist instead. He swears he only remembers number 13 punching back.

*

The next thing he remembers is Shitty dragging him off the ice, pulling him past a swarm of cameras, and thrusting him down onto a bench in the locker room.

“Fuck man!” Shitty yells. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking fuck man, you can’t pull shit like that, you know the media are look for anything to-” Shitty stops when he meets Jack’s eyes. “Oh shit, hey c’mere man hey.”

Jack doesn’t resist when Shitty holds him tight, mustache tickling the top of his head. “What’s done is done,” Shitty whispers. “You’ll be okay and Bitty will be okay and you’ll play good hockey and the ESPN dudes can suck their own ugly dicks.” He kisses the top of Jack’s head which he’s only ever done as a joke before but right now means so much. “Let’s go see Bits yeah?”

*

Bitty says the next thing he remembers is unfamiliar voices. 

Bitty says the last thing he remembers is Madison, Georgia.

Bitty, even with a major blow to his head, hasn’t forgotten his southern hospitality. When he introduces himself to Jack Zimmermann, he shakes his hand. 

*

Jack can’t remember the last time he breathed properly. He’s pretty sure it was when he was six and went to Nova Scotia with his family over the summer. He remembers sitting on a field and looking at the sky. He had picked purple flowers and put them in his mother’s hair and the world had seemed so small.

This is the opposite of that. Jack’s second thought (after _this is not real, this is not real, this is not. real_ ) is that he can’t let anyone know how much this is affecting him but just as quickly as his logical side comes, it goes. 

His third thought is that Bitty’s hand is cold. Then he stops thinking at all.

*

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HIS WAY,” Shitty sits beside Jack on the ground and reminds him to breathe, breathe, breathe. It doesn’t help and they both know it. Eventually, he just sits there, rubbing his back, making sure everyone else gives him enough air as his lungs try to find it. There are only two people Jack’s comfortable being this close to him off the ice. One of them is already that close and one of them’s in an ambulance on its way into Boston.

*

Jack spends most of the rest of the game in the penalty box. They lose to BC 4-1.

*

Shitty puts the history channel on when he and Jack get home. The rest of the team drives to the hospital but Shitty drags Jack back to the Haus, with muttered words about avoiding press and avoiding him seeing Bitty like this and avoiding him seeing the walls of a hospital at all. There are cookies in the kitchen, the lavender ones that Bitty had been making earlier. It’s a miracle he managed to not have them eaten by now but Bitty leaves miracles everywhere he goes. 

Neither of them eat any. They fall asleep in the living room, a tangle of limbs and hitched breaths that are all a little too fast. Jack wakes up a lot. One time he stares at the ceiling. One time he stares at the TV. One time he even gets up and stares at the oven, eyes glazed over. Shitty runs in after a few minutes, breathing heavily, wearing a pair of Minnie Mouse boxers and sliding clumsily in his socks.

“Christ. Fuck,” Shitty breathes, resting a hand against a wall of the kitchen. “I woke up to piss,” he breathes “and check on you and you weren’t. I thought…” 

One second, Jack swallows and forms his hands into fists, clenching, unclenching. The next, he’s curled into a ball on the kitchen floor, sobbing into his own arms. Shitty sinks down next to him and holds him tight, whispers vague words of comfort and promises of temporary into Jack’s ear.

They sit in silence for awhile after that as Jack’s sobs soften and Shitty begins to doze off in his arms. “I knew it was risky,” Jack whispers finally.

“Hmm?” Shitty hums against Jack’s arm, probably halfway to a dream about cutting Lardo’s hair in a studio apartment in Portland and playing hockey on rubber instead of ice, when Jack replies: “the play. I knew the play was risky but I thought I was only risking a point.”

Shitty nods grimly, eyes still shut and mutters “‘s still not your fault but I get it. Bitty’s worth a shitton of points man. Like a hundred hattys.”

Then Shitty falls asleep and the sun rises and all Jack can do is stare at the oven and think about how empty it looks.

*

Jack’s half asleep when the door to the Haus swings open and the sound of footsteps take over the living room. He pushes Shitty off of him and jumps to his feet, running out of the kitchen and locking eyes with the team. Bitty isn’t with them.

“The fucking doctors wouldn’t let us see him but we stayed in the waiting room all night anyways,” Lardo huffs, answering a question Jack hasn’t asked yet, arms crossed. “His parents caught a plane, they’ll be here soon.” 

“His parents?”

Lardo’s face goes soft. “It’s serious Jack. I don’t know what’s going on but it’s nothing good.”

Jack wants to cry. Jack wants to collapse into her arms and say my fault, my fault, my fault between sobs. Jack wants to take pills and Jack hates himself most for that. Jack wants to see Bitty. 

Instead, he just puts on a plain face and says “Will he be able to play next week?”

Everyone freezes. Lardo takes a step forward.

“Jack Laurent Fucking Zimmermann he might not be able to ever play again. He might not be able to remember what hockey _is_ or even walk fuck I don’t know! We don’t know! This is so much bigger than-” she freezes. Shitty’s by his side now, a frown twitching beneath his moustache.

“We all need sleep,” Shitty says, in something that almost sounds like a captain voice. “Everyone grab some food and hit the sack. Practice is cancelled.”

Jack can’t find it in him to object.

*

Mrs. Bittle comes to the Haus a few days later and makes the kitchen her own. Jack runs downstairs when he smells pie and his head starts to spin when he doesn’t see Bitty mixing flour and sugar and god knows what else.

Mrs. Bittle hugs him and feeds him. Then she hugs and feeds everyone else in the Haus and has them all sit down on the floor of the living room to tell them the “situation.” She doesn’t let anyone sit on that “godforsaken couch” and Jack’s heart twists and god he misses Bitty.

Then Mrs. Bittle tells them Bitty’s diagnosis. Jack’s out of the room by “severe memory loss” and “might remember someday.”

*

Jack’s not ready to see Bitty again. Not when he’s forgotten all the early morning checking practices and the afternoons at Annie’s and the evenings that started off with studying for class but blurred into something else ten minutes in. Shitty steers him downstairs anyways, one hand on each shoulder. 

“It’s gonna be fine kid,” he says, pushing him to the top of the stairs before jumping in front of him and locking their hands, dragging him down. Most of the team is gathered downstairs, nervously sipping beer and eating poptarts like they have been during Bitty’s entire hospital stay. Jack had forgotten how they used to eat, before. 

“Do you think he forgot all the pop culture shit too?” Holster asks, breaking off the end pieces of his brown sugar poptart and tossing them one by one into Ransom’s mouth (since he’s the only one who likes the unfrosted parts or the “old man Ransom bits” as Holster calls them). “Like I’ll be glad to rewatch all of 30 Rock and Parks with him but we’re gonna need a lot of time. Oh shit! Does he know about the Nicki and Beyoncé video?”

“I hope so,” Ransom bobs his head to the left to catch a poptart piece, “I don’t know if I can handle that freak out again. That was like… level 100 Bitty.”

“In a good way though,” Lardo smiles softly to herself and Jack feels Shitty’s hand leave his and watches it trace circles inside of Lardo’s wrist instead.

“Okay, easy for you to say, you don’t live with the guy,” Ransom objects and then the front door clicks open and they’re all on their feet, almost automatically. 

Bitty’s only changed in subtle ways. He’s more sheepish, dazed, and on edge than he ever has been. He looks tired too, so tired. Jack wants to carry him upstairs and tuck him into bed right then and there. Mostly, he thinks, he just wants Bitty in his arms.

“Uh,” Bitty toys with the bag of toiletries on one arm and the purple get better teddy bear under the other. “hi y’all.” 

The guys all stare back blankly, looking as nervous as he is. Chowder’s the only one who peeps out a hello but then he hides behind Nursey and Dex, clearly spooked. 

Lardo takes a breath and a step forward, “Hey Bits. How are you feeling?”

“Um…”

“Do you need introductions?”

“N-no,” he glances down at his feet, “My mom showed me pictures of y’all and told me your names. The doctor said that the more my life goes on like normal, the more likely I am to actually remember and… get back to normal. Although, I guess I don’t really know what normal is,” he laughs softly to himself, glancing around the living room, “I never thought I’d be living in a frat house.” 

There’s a moment of silence and then Dex asks, “Uh… do you remember us? Any of us?” 

“Not really…” Bitty admits, “I’ve gotten bits and pieces. Small things. Really, really small. But the doctor says that’s something. Mostly, I just remember Georgia, my family, high school and all that. I think I remember little things but,” his gaze glances to Jack and away, “I think maybe I could just be inventing memories to fill in spaces,” his voice sounds quieter and watery as he says, “I think maybe I’m losing my mind. Oh lord,” his eyes go wide, “sorry I… I barely know y’all I shouldn’t say things like that oh gosh.”

“Bits,” Lardo starts, eyes sad, as Holster claps a hand on Bitty’s shoulder. 

“Hey bro,” he says. “You may not remember us but we remember you and we’ve got your back okay? Besides, you’re in good hands. Your dear captain knows a thing or two about losing his mind.”

Bitty looks up to smile shyly at Jack and Jack smiles back as Shitty furrows his eyebrows and says, “If that was a joke about his anxiety I expect 1500 words on the harmfulness of the stigma surrounding mental illness on my desk by midnight.”

“Settle down Shitty,” Lardo whispers as Holster sputters out an apology. 

“Don’t worry about it Holster,” Jack says, really because he can only worry about Bitty right now, “Do you uh… want me to show you your room?” 

Bitty nods, eyes hazy, and Jack steps forward, closer, reaching for his bag. “Oh no, I’ve got that!” Bitty exclaims. 

“Still haven’t forgotten that stubbornness eh Bittle?” Jack chirps smiling, just a little. 

“Hey!” Bitty objects, cheeks turning red and then he’s staring up at Jack curiously with a look Jack doesn’t quite understand so he doesn’t think of it at all, instead seizes the moment to grab Bitty’s bag and take it upstairs. 

Bitty spins in a slow circle looking around his room, taking it in. “This is mine?” he asks in wonder.

“Uh, yeah. You’re the only one with the UGA flag and Beyoncé poster.” 

“Right.” Bitty nods dumbly, falling backwards into his bed. “This is…”

“Yeah. You should get some rest. I’m uh, right across the hall if you need anything. Shitty’s next to me and Ransom and Holster are in the attic and everyone else basically lives in the living room so you know…” he’s still leaning in the doorway of Bitty’s room, because he hasn’t been asked to enter and it feels strangely intimate right now. “we’re here. I…” he closes his eyes, “I’m here Bittle.” 

“Thanks,” Bitty smiles up at him and Jack can tell it’s genuine and he feels kind of choked up at the sight of it. He hadn’t realized how scared he was of never seeing it again until that possibility was on the table and now… now he’s so glad he’s here. Even with no memory of Jack which may just be the death of him, he’s glad he’s at least here. That’s something, he tells himself.

He moves to leave as Bitty kicks off his shoes and tucks himself into bed, too tired to get changed out of his t-shirt and sweatpants. “Jack?” he turns back to the sound of his name, nervous and quiet on Bitty’s tongue.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“Why do you call me Bittle?”

“Oh… I,” Jack rubs the back of his neck, “It’s a hockey thing. Nicknames.”

“No, I know, my mom told me,” Bitty says. “But they call me Bitty. Or Bits sometimes. You call me Bittle.” 

“I…” _It’s easier that way_ , he thinks. _It keeps you just a little further away_ , he thinks. _It makes my heart pound a little less_ , he thinks. _It doesn’t scare the shit out of me_ , he thinks. “Force of habit,” he says, shrugging, “No real reason.”

“Alright Jack,” Bitty says, eyes already shut, “alright.” 

* 

“Aha!” Shitty exclaims when Bitty makes his way downstairs that night, rubbing his eyes. “There he is!”

Bitty blinks in confusion and then, his eyes go wide. “Oh, me, right,” he glances at the viewing of Princess Diaries going on in the living room and looks back to the floor, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m just… hungry… but I can-”

“Eric Richard Bittle!” Shitty exclaims and Bitty visibly startles, “You are a part of this Haus whether you remember it or not. Sit your ass down here.”

“Oh I… can I make some food first?” 

“Bitty’s making food?” Chowder’s head pops up from where it’s hovered over his phone, presumably texting Farmer. 

“I miss Bitty food,” Ransom sighs, crashing his head dramatically into Holster’s shoulder, “I forgot how much cafeteria food sucks eggs. Like, major eggs.”

Bitty smiles fondly, almost like it’s just a habit, which gives Jack a sliver of hope, however small. “I can whip something up for y’all if you want.”

They all perk up at that until Jack says, “Let him rest. He just got home.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Bitty waves a hand, “I’d like to, really.”

“Alright,” Jack stands up, “I’ll uh… show you the kitchen.” 

He leads the way to the kitchen and asks, “Do you remember?” because he has to. Because he wants him to. 

Bitty looks around, eyes wide and then he turns to Jack and whispers, “Remind me.” and Jack feels a lump form in his throat.

“It’s your kitchen,” Jack says, softly, leaning one hand against the counter, “We say it’s the haus’s but it’s yours. It… wasn’t anything before you,” he blinks back tears he hadn’t realized were there to begin with, “The oven’s yours. We got it for you for your birthday.”

“You did?”

“The old one broke.”

“So you bought me another?” Bitty leans back into the counter space beside the oven, looking dizzy, like Jack always feels when he’s around him.

“Of course.”

“Right,” Bitty says, taking his gaze from Jack’s eyes and beginning to absentmindedly open and close cabinets, “You’ve got my back and all that.”

“Right.”

Jack sits at the table while Bitty cooks. It’s the easiest they’ve both been since Bitty got home. He remembers where some things are, subconsciously, and when he doesn’t, Jack tells him without taking his eyes off of Bitty. Flour - pantry to your left. Whisk - two cabinets to your right. It smells like home again. He makes chicken alfredo for dinner and with no explanation, makes maple crusted apple pie for dessert. 

*

“Game, game, game!” Shitty chants, two helpings of pasta and three helpings of pie later. 

Lardo sighs and lays down on the carpet, head settled in Shitty’s lap and feet in Jack’s. “Do we have to? I just ate like… my weight in pie. My weight and Chowder’s.”

Shitty grabs Lardo’s arms and pulls her up, pushing her sideways onto the carpet but keeping his arm wrapped around her shoulder. “It’s fuckin mandatory, c'mon, circle, circle.”

They circle up with faux reluctance for the show of it, beers in hand. Shitty picks up his own bottle and tips the head of it towards Jack. “For you Mr. Zimmermann,” he says, before promptly chugging it.

“Why him?!” Lardo throws a hand over her heart. 

“He’s the saddest one of all,” Ransom says somberly. 

“It’s because he doesn’t get laid,” Holster explains to Bitty. “He and hockey are monogamous.” 

“Fuck off,” Jack laughs. He presses his knee against Bitty’s as he says it and Bitty doesn’t move it and Jack’s breath catches in his throat. “What’s the game Shitty?”

“Hmmm,” Shitty taps his chin contemplatively, which is all for show because Jack knows that Shitty doesn’t go into anything without a plan.

“We could play truth or dare,” Chowder suggests meekly.

“Nah dude,” Nursey leans back where he’s squished between Chowder and Dex, “That got way too naked way too fast last time. Spin the bottle?”

Lardo snorts, “I thought you were trying to prevent nudity.”

“Relax children,” Shitty grins, “Daddy’s got a game all planned out.”

Jack crinkles his nose, “please never call yourself daddy ever again.”

Holster leans into Ransom’s side and whispers too loudly, “I really thought he’d have a daddy kink, with the whole Bad Bob complex.”

“Oh my lord,” Bitty giggles into his hands as Jack flips Holster and Ransom off, “Y’all are ruthless.”

Lardo tips her beer to him grinning, “And the game hasn’t even started yet.”

“Actually!” Shitty exclaims, “this game isn’t as crude as one might expect from me. Don’t get too disappointed now, it’s still a good one.” he places his empty beer bottle in the minute of the circle and says, “It’s simple. One person spins the bottle and whoever it lands on they ask a question to. The twist however-”

“Ah the infamous Shitty twist,” Lardo knocks her shoulder against Shitty's.

“The twist!” he continues, “Is that the question has to be about Bitty.”

“What?” Bitty’s been exchanging slow quiet glances with Jack since they sat down but now he’s staring straight at Shitty, eyes wide, “Why me?”

“It’s not personal Bits. If Dex lost his memory we’d play the same game.” 

“You so wouldn’t!” Lardo argues, “Bitty’s your favorite.”

“Don’t reveal anything Bitty related before it even starts,” Shitty winks and gives the bottle a spin. 

They all follow the bottle as it spins and spins until it lands on Ransom who grins widely. “Ah Justin,” Shitty strokes his hairless chin and Jack rolls his eyes. “Recount for us a time when Bitty, as the Samwell hockey gods and goddesses would put it, had your back.”

“That’s not a question,” Dex points out and they’re all groaning halfway through Nursey’s “chill.”

“Well,” Ransom clears his throat loudly and dramatically to prevent a war between the defense men, “Hmm. I don’t know! Oh, there was the week I had that bigass test in chem and he would knock on my door every few hours and leave food outside so I’d eat. He wasn’t even living in The Haus then,” he smiles to himself. “Is that enough? Because there was that one time he did two kegstands and then got me mad pussy-”

“I think that’s enough,” Shitty interrupts, giving Bitty and his flushed cheeks a solemn nod. “Spin, spin, spin!” 

Ransom spins the bottle and it lands on Holster. No one’s surprised. “The universe man,” Ransom had said once when he and Holster had gotten each other twice in a row during a drunk game of spin the bottle, “It’s always the two of us.”

Ransom thinks for a moment and then begins to grin widely, “Holster, I’d like to know why Bits thinks he’s too good for everyone we set him up with.”

“Hey!” Bitty squeals, “I don’t… really know what I’m objecting to but it seems like I should be. I’m sure I have great reasons. Right?”

“Yeah,” Shitty nods, “That’s like some victim blaming shit. They’re the ones who suck at matchmaking.”

“Hey! Stop answering my question!” Holster turns to Ransom with a grin, “That is a great inquiry Justin. It’s perplexing, truly. Personally, I think he’s too connected to his pies for love. It’s tragic, I mean, look at him.”

“Oh lord,” Bitty sinks his chin into his hands, “You be quiet,” he chuckles to himself, “honestly I’m not surprised I’m single,” and then drops his gaze, chewing at his lips. Jack’s trying to figure out a way to say he shouldn’t be without the words getting crossed in his brain and coming out closer to _I don’t want you to be_ when Lardo frowns.

“You’re busy Bits,” she shrugs. “Baking, hockey, class, taking care of these assholes. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Plus, you’re picky as hell,” Holster adds, “Remember that one time we set him up with that dude on the baseball team?”

Lardo narrows her eyes, “Wasn’t he the water boy?”

“Specifics,” Ransom waves his hand, “Point is he was hot.”

“Yeah!” Holster exclaims, “And he definitely gives killer blowjobs.”

“How would you possibly know that?” 

“He’s got a huge mouth Lards!”

“Oh lord,” Jack looks away from the exchange and sees Bitty, face white. His hands are shaking a little in his lap and Jack wants to hold them but he can’t and he knows from experience that that’s not enough anyways. 

“You okay Bittle?” Jack asks softly but close enough to his captain voice that it gets everyone to stop bickering and turn in their direction.

“I uh…” he looks up from his hands, “Yeah.”

“They’re just chirping you Bits,” Shitty runs his hands through Bitty’s hair and Jack tries not to feel jealous about how casually he can touch him. He wonders if he’ll ever feel like that but quickly fights back the thought. “Ignore em.”

“Oh no, y’all are fine,” Bitty says, “I just uh… I’m surprised y’all were setting me up with… men, is all.” Bitty chuckles awkwardly to himself. 

“Oh,” Jack says.

“Oh Bits,” Lardo says.

“Oh shit,” Ransom says, “Does he like not know he’s gay?”

“Can that happen?” Chowder squeaks out.

“What if the injury made him-”

“If you finish that sentence Dex I swear-”

“I was just-”

“I know I’m…” Bitty trails off, “I just didn’t know y’all would. I mean. No one does and honestly,” Bitty rubs the back of his head nervously, “I didn’t think anyone ever really would. I mean, guys on the football team assuming aside…”

Everyone pauses for a moment, not really knowing what to say. Jack curses himself because he’s never been good with words like Shitty and Lardo have been but at least they’re here. “Bitty we all love you. A lot. Like…” Lardo swallows, “like more than you know, I guess.”

“Seriously,” Shitty nods, “I’d like fucking die for you man. We all would. Your sexuality’s irrelevant. I mean,” he cocks his head thoughtfully, “It’s not. It’s so fucking important because it’s part of you you know? But it’s irrelevant to how much we love you.”

“I don’t know I think I love him more since he’s not my competition,” Ransom grins. 

“True that,” Holster nods, “I don’t know if you remember Bits but you’re kind of a ladies man.”

“Oh gosh,” Bitty ducks his head. He looks floored, almost like he did the day they replaced Betsy. Jack remembers thinking in that moment that he’d do anything to see him like that again. He can’t believe how twisted the circumstances had to be to lead to this. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna go to my room. This is um…” he swallows, “It’s just a lot you know?”

“Yeah of course,” Shitty claps him on the shoulder, “You call us if you need a single fucking thing man.”

“Thanks,” Bitty says softly, standing to his feet. “For everything I mean. You know…”

“No thanks needed for friendship bro,” Ransom clicks his fingers, “Besides, we have way more to thank you for, believe me.”

“Good night Bitty!” Chowder calls out as Bitty walks upstairs, smiling. He says it back but he doesn’t use Chowder’s name and Jack hates himself for wondering if he’s forgotten it.

They all sit in silence for one long moment until Shitty clears his throat. “Game part two: This round’s called ‘Talk About Your Feelings.’ Jack you’re first.” Jack frowns. “Random selection. Picking the white man for once.”

“Jack,” Lardo says, “C’mon.”

Jack closes his eyes. He thinks about the past four years. He thinks about coming out to Shitty at 5 a.m on the front porch freshman year and sitting in companionable silence with Lardo for six hours straight sophomore year and Ransom and Holster egging the TV when sports center brought up his overdose junior year and Bitty sliding him lecture notes and a slice of apple pie with a smile senior year. He breathes.

“I’m worried he’ll never remember,” he decides on eventually. It comes out hoarser than he intended it to. 

“We get it Jack,” Lardo says, “You’re not in this alone.”

“No I… it’s different.” Jack averts his eyes, “It’s different for me.”

“Hey,” Shitty says softly, “hey.”

“Hi.”

“Talk to us Jack.”

He chokes back tears, “I’m trying. Fuck.”

“Is this about your anxiety?” Ransom asks, carefully, “I dated this girl who works in student health last year-”

“No. I mean, yes but it’s… I…” Jack inhales. “How would you feel if it was Shitty who forgot?” He asks Lardo. She doesn’t answer. “It feels like that, I think. I mean, I don’t know what your relationship is exactly but-”

“Oh Jack,” Lardo launches her arms around him. It would make more sense for him to be holding her, with the height difference, but it feels good like this, comfortable.

The rest of the team is still watching, eyebrows furrowed. Lardo lifts her head from Jack’s chest and scans the room. “Christ boys are dense,” she says.

Jack chuckles, softly, “I think you’re better at getting to the point than I am,” he gestures vaguely in a way that he hopes get across what he wants to say which is _help me get them to understand so they can help me_. She does, of course. All those days communicating with only facial expressions are starting to pay off.

“Jack wants to bone Bitty,” Lardo says bluntly. 

“That is not what I meant!”

“You gotta get straight to the point with these guys,” Lardo says, drawing back just as she’s pushed against Jack’s chest again when the team dives for a group hug. Shitty’s on the outside, holding them all together, arms tight and chin rested on Jack’s head.

“You’re gonna get through this you know,” he says softly, “You always do.”

That night, they all drag their comforters downstairs and sleep in the living room. Jack thinks at first that they’re afraid he’ll do something if he’s left alone but really, he tells himself, they’ll seize any opportunity for a sleepover. 

He falls asleep with a World War II documentary on the tv, Chowder drooling on his shoulder, and Shitty naked and spread eagle beside him. He lies on the carpet of the living room and dreams of his first NHL goal. It’s a game winning shot and even in his dream it’s everything he’s ever wanted and it feels so real until he looks down just as he slams it past the goalie and sees that the puck is actually a blueberry pie, now splattered in the back of the net.

*

Things go back to normal, as much as they can. Bitty still can’t remember, for the most part. He’s become a bit of an insomniac and Jack feels selfishly a little bit happy about it. They’ve developed a habit of going up onto the roof when they can’t sleep, which is most nights out of the week.

Bitty asks him questions. Usually they don’t go that deep. “What was my favorite song? What was yours?” 

Sometimes they get deeper anyways. Bitty will ask what Jack’s favorite childhood memory is and five minutes later he finds he’s still talking about what it’s like to be Bad Bob’s son while Bitty listens attentively.

“I think we’re closer,” Jack whispers to Shitty one night when he’s in his room watching Shitty get high and NHL highlight reels simultaneously. “I think we’re closer than we were before.”

Shitty holds a joint lazily between his fingers and says, “Tragedy does that.”

“It hasn’t. Before,” he turns his gaze up to the ceiling, Shitty’s arm brushes against Jack’s and he leans into it. “With Kent, it didn’t. It ruined everything, I think.”

Jack glances over to see Shitty smiling at him. “It does that if it’s good Jack. You know. Tests the relationship and all that shit,” he raises his eyebrows, “you either come together or fall apart and you two,” he gestures towards Jack with the blunt, “have come the fuck together.” 

“I’m worried it’s not the tragedy,” Jack says, swallowing and forcing himself to hold eye contact. “I’m worried it’s because he doesn’t remember how I was. How I am.”

“Oh Jack,” Shitty whispers, “Jack Jack Jack. Jack Zimmermann. Jack Laurent Zimmermann.”

“Shitty.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, you know, before. Before that BC asshole fucked everything up. BTB...F… fuck,” he laughs to himself for a long moment. “I don’t know man. But I’ve been thinking about it, before. And it makes sense. The two of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think he wanted to bone you before too. And I think he does now. The brain,” Shitty says, “it goes to shit and forgets. But the heart…” he sticks the joint in his mouth and uses his now freed hands to tap his fingers against Jack’s chest before he mumbles around the joint, “can’t forget your pretty ass.”

“Fuck you!” Jack laughs easily, punching his arm. “You really think so though?”

Shitty takes a hit and Jack thinks it’s strange, how much the smell of a drug he’s only smoked a small handful of times feels like home to him. “Honestly bro,” he says, “I don’t know shit about memories or love or anything really besides systematic oppression and how to go down on people but I do know that the way you and Bits look at each other is like… how you and hockey pucks look at each other.”

“Pucks don’t have faces.”

“Ah but if they did-”

“Shitty have you seen-” Bitty stands in the doorway and Jack straightens up immediately, running a hand through his hair. He keeps his gaze on Bitty but smacks Shitty on the arm because he knows he’s smirking. “Jack! Hi.”

“Uh hi.”

“Hi Bitty,” Shitty grins, “good to see you too.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Bitty asks absentmindedly, “I would have knocked but the door was open so-”

“You’re fine. Were you looking for something?”

“Oh uh, you, actually, but if you’re busy…”

“No it’s… I’m not are you-”

“I just-”

They laugh, awkwardly, and Shitty closes his eyes and takes a hit, his own way of giving them space. 

“I just wanted to talk,” he gestures vaguely towards the window which has become something of a signal. “But it can wait.”

“Nah, you two kids go stargaze,” Shitty climbs over Jack and stands, in his ripped heart boxers and pink socks, “I’m gonna go finger paint with Lards.” Shitty grabs Jack’s hand and pulls him to his feet, not really having to work hard for it. He pulls him into a hug, the joint waving dangerously close to the back of his neck. “You’re so good Jack Zimmermann,” he whispers into his ear, “You’re so so good and you’re so so loved and every bit of your love is so so deserved. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Jack whispers.

“Fuck yeah!” Shitty pumps a fist in the air and hip checks Bitty before fleeing his own room, feet pounding down the stairs.

Jack grabs a quilt from Shitty’s bed that Lardo had made for him sophomore year and gestures towards the open window. 

Jack knows Shitty was joking about the star gazing but it really is a nice night for it. The sky is clear and there’s a boy he’s maybe in love with beside him and Shitty’s words are ringing in his ears. “What did you want to talk about Bittle?”

“Oh I…” Bitty swallows. “I guess I just… we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t-”

“No, no, I do. I was just wondering… um,” he inhales in the way that Jack’s come to recognize as the sound he makes right before he does something brave and it makes his heart pound, “Jack?”

“Bittle?”

“What were we like, before? Not me or the team but me and you. What were we like?”

“I’m not good with words,” Jack whispers, frowning.

Bitty shifts slightly, moving closer to Jack, wrapping the quilt tighter around them. “Can you try for me?” He asks and he turns his head away from the sky and looks up at Jack and Jack thinks to himself _god, how could I not?_

“I’ve mentioned the checking practices,” Jack says, slowly, “We did those a lot. We watched the sun rise from faber and we studied together and got coffee and… it was like it is now except…”

“Except?”

“I wasn’t the… nicest person to you when we met.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jack you don’t have to apologize,” he laughs, “I don’t even remember it.”

“Right.”

“I think,” Bitty says, looking back towards the sky. “That maybe we’re all looking at this the wrong way. Maybe I’m wrong but maybe…”

“Maybe…?”

Bitty laughs, “Maybe this is just a fresh start. A second chance at meeting.” He looks back at Jack and his eyes look different than they have in a long time, wide but hopeful. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” he smiles, “I’m Jack Zimmermann.”

“Eric Bittle.”

Jack grabs his chin in his hands then and kisses him, like he’s wanted to since lord knows when. Bitty gasps a little and leans into it and they’re still wrapped under the sky beneath the quilt and Jack thinks, because he still can’t get completely out of his head even though he’s getting closer, _this is what my mom meant the day after the overdose when she said that everything happens for a reason._

“I don’t remember exactly,” Bitty whispers as he draws back, “but I think I wanted that before. And if I didn’t… I wanted it now,” he says, as if he knows Jack needs the reassurance because honestly, he probably does. “I want it now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty laughs and then looks down shyly as he asks, “do you think we’d be able to actually sleep if we slept together? I don’t mean… I just mean in the same bed-”

Jack smiles and says, “I think we could try.”

They do. They still can’t sleep, not deeply or for long. But it’s easier, Jack thinks, with Bitty laughing in his arms. It makes having to keep his eyes open better and that’s enough.

*

They’re in the kitchen when Bitty starts to remember.

It’s morning and he’s showing Jack how to make the perfect pancake. “I know how to make pancakes,” Jack’s arguing, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“Uh, I beg to differ,” Ransom pipes up from the table, “PB, Pre-Bitty, you made pancakes on Shitty’s birthday and they weren’t even cooked.”

“That was sophomore year!”

“I’ll never forget the taste of that batter,” Holster shakes his head.

“Alright, alright, c’mon now, he’s trying his best,” Bitty smiles up at Jack, hair flat on his forehead and flour on his chin.

“You know this relationship is really ruining your chirp game Bits,” Ransom shakes his head.

“Agreed,” Shitty stands in the doorway, bagel smeared with cream cheese in one hand, his other arm slung around Lardo’s shoulder. “You’re definitely slacking.”

“Chirps before hoes,” Holster says pointedly as Bitty flips a pancake carefully, expertly.

Bitty looks up from the food a moment later and frowns at Jack, “Hey!”

“What?”

“You’re watching me, not the food! You’re supposed to be learning,” he pouts, “What are you going to do without me next year?”

Jack shrugs, “You’re just gonna have to visit,” he smiles shyly and Bitty swats him with his spatula, cheeks tinged pink. They stare at each other for one long moment and Jack has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling more. 

“Um Bitty?” Chowder squeals from the table, “the pancakes…”

“Oh shit!” Bitty flips the last pancake off of the pan and onto a plate, “fuck. Jack Zimmermann!”

“What did I do?!”

“I have never burnt a pancake in my life… that I can remember, and then you come in here with your-” he gestures at Jack’s face wildly, “you! You get out of my kitchen, go on!”

“I thought I was learning!”

“I’ll just give you a recipe book, go, shoo.”

Jack reluctantly goes to the table, sitting beside Chowder. “Ooh rejected,” Holster grins.

“At least I have someone to reject me,” Jack shrugs.

“Aww that’s not true,” Bitty smiles from the kitchen, “Remember that time that girl cried when he asked her out because she didn’t want to date him but she didn’t want to say no,” he chuckles to himself, pouring out glasses of orange juice, “poor thing.”

The room falls silent and Bitty’s head snaps up. “What? Should I not bring that up? Is that a soft spot I’m sorry y’all-”

“Have you told him that story?” Ransom asks, “Lardo?”

“Why would I tell him that?” 

“Holster?”

“I’d rather abstain from sex for like the rest of college than tell that story again.”

“Jack?”

“...I didn’t even remember that happened, honestly.”

“Bro,” Ransom smiles. “Bro!” 

“Oh…” The team piles onto Bitty before he can even fully process their words or put his spatula down. He yelps as they envelop him like they always do during cellys.

“Bro first you fuck Jack, then you get cleared for skating next season, now this?” Holster grins, “Give me some of that luck Bits.”

“Give me some of those pancakes,” Ransom yells, breaking free from the hug and grabbing one before the others can pounce.

Bitty escapes to the fridge as the team dukes it out for the pancakes and Jack slips past them carefully, standing in front of Bitty, smiling. “Hi,” he says, resting a hand on the fridge.

“Hi,” Bitty says, eyes wide. “Are you… I... never mind.”

“What? If this is about the pancakes, I really can learn you know.”

“What? No it’s… never mind, it’s dumb.”

Jack lifts his other hand to Bitty’s face and lifts an eyebrow quizzically until Bitty says, “Are you upset my first real memory isn’t of you? It feels like it should be.”

Jack thinks for a moment. “No,” he says, “I don’t think I am.”

“No?”

“I mean,” Jack shrugs and leans in, kisses him softly. “Just make some good memories of me and we’ll call it even.”

Bitty grins, all teeth and good days and whispers, “Deal,” before kissing Jack once, twice, three times. 

Jack commits every single one to memory.

**Author's Note:**

> 3/5 cp fics done for March! I'm pullin it off! Thank u So Much for reading hmu at gaysun on tumblr ily.


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